


Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020

by Mouse9



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drunk Dialing, F/M, In Vino Veritas, Only One Bed, Original Characters - Freeform, Secret dating, Tropes, Victorian Sherlock Holmes, huddled for warmth, locked in a room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: A seven (six, I couldn't fit in the friends to lovers trope, sorry) day collection of Sherlolly tropey goodiness.More tags later on in the week.Enjoy
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 41
Kudos: 132
Collections: Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020





	1. The One Bed Problem

Molly only had one bed in her flat. 

It was a two bedroom flat, but the second bedroom was more of a study/junk room/ Toby’s play area. There was an old worn leather chair in the room-

_ Father’s _

_ Comfort _

_ Doesn’t want to share with anyone who may come into the flat _

-as well as an antique writing desk and matching chair-

_ Family heirloom _

_ Uses only for writing research papers and published articles _

-but other than those two pieces, the room was not set up for guests. 

Sherlock looked around the remainder of the flat while Molly scrambled in the kitchen making tea that he had no intention of drinking. 

As boltholes went, this one would be one of the more comfortable places. Food, warmth and someone who would cater to him. There was the added advantage that no one would suspect him holding up here. 

_ She would undoubtedly take care of his needs.  _

_ She was raised to be of service to others. _

_ Doesn’t know how not to be a hostess when her flat is invaded.  _

It was unfortunate about the cat, slinking about the flat, looking upon him as if he were an intruder. And, of course, the One Bed Problem. 

_ There was no way around it, _ he thought tapping down a twinge of uncomfortableness,  _ she would merely need to find other accommodation when I am here. _

“I’ve decided your place is ideal for a bolthole,” he announced as he walked back into the kitchen. Molly looked up as she finished putting the second sugar cube into his tea. 

“Oh. That’s nice.” Came the confused answer. “What’s a bolthole?”

“Nothing much. I sometimes require a place to stay for a couple of hours from time to time. Places no one knows about. Sometimes to think over a problem, other times just to have silence.” His eyes narrowed watching her. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”

She handed him the mug, which he took  _ Good manners, _ and wrinkled her nose in thought.

“I...I suppose not?”

“Excellent” He put the cup on the counter and turned, coat flying out as he spun, and headed out of the kitchen. “I’ll require the bedroom. More room to think.”

Sherlock barely heard her bewildered acquiescence as he headed towards the bedroom and his new sanctuary. 

* * *

  
  


Everything, he thought, was fine. 

The bolthole dilemma was solved with very little effort on his part. If he began appearing a bit more frequently, ignoring his other, preferred boltholes for Molly’s flat, it was only because her’s was closer, he reasoned. Or it was colder than usual and her flat provided an extra measure of warmth that the wood burning stove at another bolt hole might not. Or he needed assistance with an injury that he couldn’t attend to himself. It would be a shame to waste a perfectly good doctor, even if she did only work on the dead now.

When he slipped into her flat one spring evening around two am after getting into a fight whilst trying to help out one of his Irregulars, Molly woke to his arrival, eyes wide as she turned on the light. 

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“A scrap.” Was all he said as he shucked his coat and headed towards her bathroom. 

There was blood, tacky and adhering his shirt to his skin. He hissed as he gently tugged the shirt from a still oozing knife wound. 

Then Molly was there, blinking against the overhead light, too big pajamas rolled up on her arms. She got a flannel from the shelf and silently went about cleaning his wounds- pushing his hands away when he tried to take over- and closing the deep gash with butterfly strips. 

After, she brought him a fresh pair of clothes (he had spare clothing at all of his boltholes, this was nothing different). 

As he slid into the bed, still warm from her body heat, he noticed she had hung up his Belstaff. He was asleep before she slipped out of the room to sleep on the couch, surrounded by the scent of her.

* * *

  
  


The One Bed Problem ceased to be that, he reasoned.

He would come in, invade her space and she would silently step out of his way. Aside from the few demands she insisted upon: no shooting her walls, no smoking inside (the back window in the spare room solved that problem) and absolutely no mistreatment of Toby (as if he would, the obstinate furball was growing on him). 

The few times he came to the flat late in the evening, after she’d gone to bed, she’d merely blink sleepily at him and relinquish the room. 

It was the perfect set up. 

Until one Thursday. 

Sherlock slipped into the flat in the time when late night turned into early in the morning. He’d been walking the streets for hours, still wound up after the most recent case. 

John had a new girlfriend and had, in no uncertain terms, told him to shove off for a few hours. 

Now tired of walking, he only wanted a place to rest. Which meant a bolthole because he was not walking back to Baker Street. Which was how he found himself near Molly’s place. 

Toby padded into the front room as he locked the door, meowing once as if in greeting before rubbing himself against Sherlock’s leg. 

Hanging up his coat, Sherlock walked down the hall, Toby following, into the bedroom. 

Molly was curled up under the covers, sound asleep. Even Toby’s solitary meow hadn’t disturbed her. Which means, Sherlock mused, that she was tired, more tired than normal. 

He pushed aside the beginning feels of concern and instead cleared his throat in order to wake her up. He was weary and she needed to move. It took two subsequently louder noises before she stirred. 

“Sherlock?” Her sleep slurred voice called out in the darkness. “Is everything okay? Are you hurt?”

He could make out her figure, half sitting up in the bed. 

“No, no, everything is uneventful. Your place was closer than Baker Street.”

“Oh. Okay.”

She laid back down and he frowned. 

“Molly.”

“Mmmm?”

“I require your bed.”

“So use it.”

“But…” he trailed off. The problem was obvious. She needed to move. 

“It’s been a long, taxing week, Sherlock, and I’m knackered.” her voice came after the pause became longer than expected. “I’m not moving out of my own bed, so either you can climb in or kip on the couch.”

Sherlock frowned. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. Molly was supposed to get up and move. True her bed was queen sized and more than large enough to fit them both comfortably, but she was supposed to move. 

A tired yawn came from beneath the covers, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Get into bed Sherlock. I’ll be properly mortified by it tomorrow, right now I just want to sleep.”

  
The One Bed Problem returned in full force. Did he surrender and share the bed, spending the entire evening awake and wondering if she would molest him in his sleep? Or leave and try to make it back to Baker Street?

Weariness flooded his being making his decision for him. Kicking off his shoes, he walked to the empty side. The sheets were warm from her body heat, the duvet comfortable with her scent. Sherlock lay still, tense, waiting to see if she would make a move, try to touch him, anything. What happened was Molly fell back asleep curled up on her side, a full few inches of space between them, and lulled by her steady breathing, the warmth of the duvet and the gentle weight of a cat on his feet, it wasn’t long before Sherlock fell asleep as well. 

* * *

In the beginning, the alterations to the One Bed Problem were less of a problem and more of an annoyance. Molly refused to give up her bed anymore, instead insisting that he either sleep in the same bed or on the couch. 

Everytime he would whine and lay stiff alongside her listening to the sound of her steady breathing and the quiet lull of outside noise until he fell asleep. Occasionally she would fall asleep on the couch, if she was staying up when he was over and went to bed first, or if she got up in the middle of the night. 

Those times, he found he didn’t sleep as well. 

The One Bed Problem had changed, Sherlock mused one morning as he sat in his chair at Baker Street. No longer was it the concern of sharing a bed, the stiff limbs laying worrying that he would awaken to her across him or take advantage. 

Now it was that  **he** wanted to be closer. Wondered what it would feel like with her sleeping against his chest, her steady breath blowing lightly against the cotton of his vest, or the heat of her palm resting lightly against his sternum. 

Molly was his friend- he accepted he had those now- but he was the one who wanted to wrap her close to him and fall asleep with her head tucked under his chin. 

Somehow, over the year he’d been using her flat as a bolthole, the One Bed Problem had become the Molly Problem. Specifically, these burgining feelings he had regarding her. 

* * *

This problem came to a head one evening when he was over. Sometime ago, it had stopped being a bolthole and had become his “other home”. 

“I might clean out the spare room.” Molly said from the kitchen. Sherlock leaned his head against the back of the couch to see her. 

“Why?”

“Make it a proper spare bedroom.” she explained. “Buy a bed for it. I know you hate sharing a bed and well, in the beginning, I really didn’t think you’d actually agree to it.”

Sherlock moved Toby from his lap, who protested weakly before hopping from the couch and followed Sherlock to the kitchen where Molly was finished the washing up. 

“But it’s all silly now,” she continued, eyes on the dishes. “You can have a proper bed and a proper space.”

“Molly.”

She glanced over at him cautiously. 

Suddenly, he didn’t know what to say. Should he say that if she bought a new bed he won't ever sleep in it because he has come to be reliant on knowing she is beside him? Should he say that he wants to continue sleeping beside her, that the sound of her breathing was the only thing that soothes him at times? That he wants to continue sleeping with her? That the One Bed Problem wasn’t a problem anymore?

“Don’t waste your money.” he said instead. Then, 

“I’m going to bed.”

“Okay.” 

He watches her turn away, go back to washing up before he continues. 

“Come with me?”   
Startled, she looks up at him, their gazes meeting and Sherlock wills her to understand all those things he couldn’t say. 

Silently, he holds out a hand. 

Molly turns off the water and wipes her hands off on a dish towel. Then, she reaches out with a smile and takes his hand. 

“Okay.”

With that, the One Bed Problem was solved. 


	2. Ensconced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Two: Fake/ secret dating
> 
> Some secrets are just too much to hold.

“You berk.”

“Had I wanted to be verbally abused, I would’ve stayed with John.”

Molly frowned as she slid on a pair of gloves. 

“You almost slipped Sherlock,” she tried a different tactic. "With that comment.”

“Luckily John’s oblivious and Mrs. Hudson was too involved in putting me in the boot and trying to find out everything that was happening to pay attention.

Even though she was angry, Molly bit back a smile. Sherlock caught the slight movement and his eyes narrowed. 

“The boot was mean.”

“The boot was better than you deserved.”

He held out his arms as gloved fingers slid lightly over track marks inside his inner elbow. 

“”You’ve blown a vein here,” she said, switching to the other arm. The ambulance made a turn and she braced a hand on the gurney next to his thigh to stay upright. 

“The therapist knew something, I think.” she continues, cleaning his marks and then checking his throat. “I saw her watching.”

“Probably wondering what she’d agreed to by taking John on as a patient. Now…"

Hands gripped her hips, dragging her in closer. Molly braced her hand on his shoulders. “We have ten minutes, provided we don’t run into traffic.”

“I told you before you started this, no sex until you’re off the drugs and tested.”

“I’ve been careful,” he whined, sliding fingers under her blouse and teasing skin. “Only clean needles. Please Molly? I need you.”

Molly signed, running her still gloved hands through his limp greasy curls. His head tilted back at her tough and gentle tugs, exposing his throat. 

“Why is it you only say please when you’re high?”

His hand slipped around to her arse, pulling her even closer, fingers squeezing the fabric covered flesh. Molly let out a sigh, body instinctively moving to slot against his, leaning into his touch.

“You need me too.” his head was still tilted upward, pupils black and wide, meeting her gaze with such an expression of lust and need that called to her, made her want to shuck her trousers, loosen his, climb up onto the gurney and sink into him. Instead, her fingers tightened into his hair, tugging, pulling a soft moan from his lips. 

Lowering her head, she caught his mouth and he responded; hungry, desperate, needy. 

Molly’s heart ached; she loved him terribly. Her heart broke every time she watched him do this to himself, ever since the first time she’d met him, in the basement of University College Hospital in her final year before she joined Bart’s. 

He was doing experiments in an old abandoned lab room, scalpel in shaky fingers, trying to make a clean slice from a tumorous kidney. 

_ “Who are you?” _

_ “Busy, go away.” _

_ Letting the door close behind her, she quickly assessed the man before her; clothing, expensive but too large, black curly hair, limp and hanging about his face. Glistening sheen of sweat as if feverous around his face. Long, thin fingers shaking with tremors as he tried to cut a thin slice and failed. _

_ He cursed and tried again.  _

_ He was high on...something. _

_ She should’ve been scared of this man, this drugged up man with a scalpel who could easily pounce and cut her, hurt her.  _

_ But she wasn’t, scared that was. Rather, she was intrigued, sympathetic.  _

_ Another slice, too large once more.  _

_ Another curse.  _

_ She made a decision at that moment. Student or no, he was going something, there was a method to his madness, an urgency. Moving forward , she reached out and plucked the scalpel from those trembling fingers.  _

_ “Move.” _

_ Elbowing both his and his protests aside, Molly sliced a thin sliver of the kidney and placed it onto the slide.  _

_ “There.” _

_ Black with a ring of dark blue eyes glared back at her.  _

_“I do not need your_ _condescension nor your pity.”_

_ “But you need my help.” Molly shot back instinctively. She looked up at him, seriously and unafraid.  _

_ “I can alway contact Dr. Framer to ask him about your experiments.” she said, knowing that if her teacher knew about this man, that would be the end of him. “Or I can help you with whatever you’re doing. What are you doing?” _

_ He stared at her as if studying her, before setting the slide onto the old microscope and turning his attention to it.  _

_ “Keeping focused. If I have something to focus on, the urge to shoot up diminishes. I’m trying to prove that I can stop.” _

_ “Okay.” She didn’t even think, just did. “I can help you, if you like. But if you start using again, I stop and turn you in. Deal?” _

_ He looked away then, at her, singular focus. He blinked, then turned back to the microscope.  _

_ “Deal.”  _

They were never caught, never in trouble. Looking back now, she wonders just how much of that she had to credit to Mycroft, who didn’t know what his brother was doing, only that he wasn’t using and he had support. 

A month later, he kissed her for the first time, over a spleen she’d smuggled to him. 

That moment, like every other after, made her chest warm, something in her stomach pull. His kisses made her ache, made her want. 

The ambulance turned once more, pulling her back to awareness. Sherlock’s hand was inching up the inside of her blouse, fingers tracing the silken edge of her bra. 

“No.” she murmured against his lips, gently pulling his hand away. 

“Molly,” he whined. 

“We have a deal.”

Another whine as the ambulance slowed. She pulled off the gloves as she pulled away from him and tried to make herself look presentable. 

“No one knows.” Taking pity on him, she leaned in and pressed a quick, hard kiss against his lips. 

_ “I don’t want you tainted by my life, used against me.” _

_ Fingers stroked up bare skin, over her hip to her waist, up her ribcage and down again, making her shiver.  _

_ “I don’t have anything that’s just my own and I want it, want you.” _

_ They were in her bed, the soft light from the outside lamp casting shadows in her room.  _

_ “Eventually, people will figure out that I know you. They’ll think I’m using you. I want them to think that. Because if they knew the truth, know how important you are to me, they’d use it against me, against us.” _

“I know.” A sigh and he rested his head against her chest, arms wrapping around her waist. The moment was tender and then it was over and Molly moved away completely as she heard the doors to the back unlock. 

“You finish this Sherlock Holmes.” she hissed, her voice firm. “You finish this and get clean again. And then no more. Deal?”

“Deal.”

The doors opened and Sherlock lounged on the gurney as Molly left him to wait on the back step of the ambulance for John to arrive. 

They had to keep their relationship secret. She’d seen first hand what could happen if she was ever known as anything other than Sherlock’s friend. Until they were both sure everyone was safe, this...they had to remain a secret. 

  
  



	3. A Bit of Heaven in These Fires of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 Locked in a room
> 
> Hooper and Holmes are on the trail of a criminal but what they find instead is much more interesting.
> 
> (AN: I swear I didn't know Writingwife83 was doing Victorian when I started this story. Any reflections are happenstance)

“I loathe you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I daresay I know my own mind, Holmes.”

“Keep your voice down. And stop moving. There’s precious little room in here as it is.”

Molly pressed her back against the cold stone wall of the small secret passageway and held still thankful not for the first time that she was wearing trousers instead of a dress. It gave them more room in which to maneuver. Not that they still weren’t alarmingly close.

With Watson up North with Mary to visit his brother, Holmes had convinced Molly to, once again, don her alter persona and assist him on a case. He was on a trail of a murderer and had finally tracked the culprit down to a residence. Molly, night off from the clinic she now worked in- as her proper self-was intrigued by the prospect and had agreed.

Holmes broke in through a back window and together, they searched the seemingly empty house, each room more strange and unseemly as the next. Rooms painted red with yards of fabric billowing about. Cabinets and wardrobes of brightly shining cherry wood with pearl inlays in each room

Molly was intrigued the further they entered the home, delighted as they climbed the steps to search the rooms. Curious as she discovered little oddities about the room that seemed to be out of place. Holmes, in his usual way, said nothing.

Returning to the main floor the finished their tour of the house in the front sitting room, sliding oak doors hid the room from the front entryway, chairs and couches adorned with velvet and soft fabric were placed strategically in the house. Molly was disappointed. She was sure Holmes had said he’d seen the murderer enter this house.

“There’s no one here, Holmes.”

Suddenly the sound of a key in a metal lock broke the silence and Molly’s heart leapt. 

“We must escape.” She hissed turning towards the back of the house where they had entered.

“No time.” Holmes answered as the sound of a door opening was heard. Spinning, he scanned the fireplace behind them and hurried over to it. Reaching out he felt underneath the mantel as footsteps and talking could be heard in the front hall.

A soft click and the bookshelf to the left of them opened a crack.

Molly found herself being pulled into a secret room, barely large enough for them both.

Holmes pulled the secret door shut and peered through the small opening just above a row of fake books. 

Molly held her breath as the slid of the wooden doors opening and voices were heard in the room they were just in. There was a brief conversation, one she couldn’t hear and then the steps faded.

“Quick Holmes,” she whispered. “Before they return.”

Silence.

And then.

“I cannot find the latch.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We seem to be locked in for the time being.”

“Holmes!” The word sounded loud in the small room.

“Patience Hooper, there is a latch. I just need to find it.”

With no lamp to guide his way, Holmes was trying to find the latch by touch alone. Molly remained still, watching Holmes at work, her breath catching every time those voices returned. Soon more voices were added to the fray, laughing and multiple conversations as time passed and darkness fell outside. What little light they had faded from the window replaced with candlelight and the light from the fireplace next to them. The stones beside her grew warm and Molly shifted to move away from them lest she burn herself. 

In moving, her front brushed against Holmes’s back. His hands paused for a moment before continuing their search.

The smell of rich foods permeated the air and Molly’s stomach growled quietly, reminding her that all she’d had to eat today was a bit of breakfast before she went to work at the clinic that morning.

“Your digestion will find us out, Hooper, kindly cease.”

“I cannot cease it Holmes, it is as involuntary as yawning.” 

“Mind over matter, Hooper.”

She moved again, her legs growing stiff from staying in one place for so long. 

“I loathe you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I daresay I know my own mind, Holmes.”

“Keep your voice down. And stop moving. There’s precious little room in here as it is.”

Molly pressed her back against the cold stone wall of the small secret passageway and held still thankful not for the first time that she was wearing trousers instead of a dress. Skirts would have made more noise and trip them both up. She was glad she didn’t bother to wear the mustache, choosing instead to wear only a cap with the ratty workman’s outfit she’d worn. But the heat in the room was making the wig itch and sweat was beginning to trickle in between her shoulder blades.

The sounds of laughter, eating and drinking only made the emptiness in her belly worse. She tried swallowing, a trick she used to do during long nights in the library when to leave for food meant one less hour of studying. It only helped a little. 

“Distract your mind Hooper.” Holmes ground out, long arms reaching up and brushing his fingertips along the walls. “On something else, anything else.”

She looked up at him, mouth open ready to snap back with a retort when, in the dimness of the room, she caught sight of the back of his neck. Holmes was always buttoned up; tie, cravat, starched collars, he was everything the self-respecting gentleman should be. Now, in the heat of this too small area, Holmes’s collar was undone, tie loosened, hair leaving its normal slicked back style and beginning to curl in the humidity of the small stone room. 

Molly licked her lips, her mouth suddenly going dry.  _ It was only a bit of flesh, _ she told herself,  _ you’ve seen more on cadavers.  _ But it was hidden, secret, always locked up tight, much like his tightly controlled emotions. To see this collar loosened, exposing not unseen flesh to her was like seeing this man not carefully controlled. 

There was a warmth in her belly, not caused by food or drink. The sounds of the outer room vanished as her focus narrowed on that one pale strip of skin. Molly knew this was wrong, she should look away, but his head turned to the side as if listening and she saw more of his neck and one lone freckle she’d never seen before. 

“Hooper.” Holmes’s voice was low, warning. 

“Hmmm?” The skin was mesmerizing. She wanted to run her fingers up the cords of his neck, feel the muscle and tissue underneath her fingers. Feel the blood pumping just beneath the skin. She wanted to lean in, taste his skin on her tongue. 

“Hooper, when I said distract yourself, I didn’t mean…oh.”

Molly blinked, and everything rushed back to her. The conversation had changed, there was still talking and laughing but now there was something…different about it, underlying the general noise in the room.

“What is it?” She asked, moving from the wall to lean in towards him. Holmes moved, blocking the view from the small peep hole.

“Dammit Holmes, move,” she hissed, trying to move him. “I wish to know what-“

“There are some things that do not need to be witnessed.”

Molly’s gaze narrowed. “Holmes, if you are now, after everything, treating me as some delicate wallflower, I swear I will…”

Holmes moved slightly to his right, leaving a small portion of the peer hole open. She leaned forward, taking the moment before he tried to stop her. 

“Hooper, I really…”

Molly peered out into the room, having to squint to see into the candlelit room. That underlying feeling had returned and for a moment, Molly wasn’t sure what she was looking at. 

Then…

“Oh…Oh, bollocks.”

There were people in that front lounge room, more than she’d expected. Food and drink were on trays by the walls of the room but it what was happening in the middle of the room…people in robes and for a moment, Molly had a flash of her own society, the women in purple robes armed with knowledge and vengeance on those who had wronged them. But their meetings were never like this…

Bodies on the floor, shadowed by candlelight. It was hard to tell exactly what they were doing but the woman was unclothed, the men as well and the sounds coming from them, it was obvious…

She could hear more now, sounds under the murmured conversations, see more not that she understood what she was looking for. Bodies lounging on the couches, on the chairs, legs hooked over the arms while other bodies were knelt before them. That underlying thing she couldn’t quite catch before rushed to the forefront of her mind now. 

Sighs, moans, choked gasps…the sounds of debauchery and excess.

“Holmes.” She stuttered, unable to remove her gaze from the scene she was witnessing. It was wrong, this was wrong, she shouldn’t be watching this. “This house, it’s part of the Hellfire Club.”

“How would you know that?” his voice was right behind her and suddenly she was fully aware of how close he was to her, the warmth of his body adding to the heat of the stones. Molly swallowed, licking her dry lips. 

“I…I was invited. When I was at school.” She answered. Hands slid over her shoulders and she tensed, unsure if she should lean against him or pull away. Holmes pulled her gently away from the peep hole, breaking the spell it had over her and immediately her cheeks flamed in embarrassment. She moved, away from him, pressing her back against the cool wall behind her. She folded her arms tightly against her chest as if to hold herself back. 

“I…I had high marks, a friend I had there came to my dorm drunk one evening. Been initiated into the club. Was in his cups enough to tell me all about it, even though it’s supposed to be secret. Wanted me to join him at the next meeting. I declined.”

“You were worried about what would happen should they discover you were hiding a secret.”

“I knew what would happen should they ever find out about that.” Her gaze lifted him him and behind the wall, the sounds of moans and cries grew louder, more frenzied. 

“I wouldn’t have been allowed to escape.” She continued, closing her eyes shut tight, attempting to block out the sounds.

The loud sound of flesh slapping against flesh startled Molly’s eyes open and she looked up at Holmes. His eyes were dark and he turned, leaning in to peer out into the room for the briefest of moments. 

The sound was heard again, followed by a squeal and a low moan and Holmes’s body tensed. He pulled away from the view and moved to get comfortable. 

“This could go on for a while, we should try to focus on something else.” He said, Molly watched him askance. How was she to focus on something else when the sounds of people rutting like animals was just in the next room? Her gaze kept turning towards the wall in front of her, the pinpricks of candlelight. It was the forbidden, calling out to her and the more she focused on it, the more she was able to hear, to imagine.

“Hooper. Hooper.” Holmes’ voice was far away, almost as if in a dream and Molly’s hands clenched into fists, trying to break the spell this room was weaving. Suddenly, the small light was extinguished, and Holmes was before her.

“Molly.” His voice hoarse and raspy, the sound of her christian name enough to catch her attention and pull her from the spell. 

“Yes,” she shook her head, trying to dispel the fogginess.” Apologies Holmes. I…”

“Opium.” He said, “The smell of it is in the other room. It is beginning to seep into this area. One of the reasons you feel not yourself.”

From the other room came a loud cry of a woman coming to completion and Molly shivered, eyes lowering to focus on his waistcoat. She watched the rise and fall of his chest for a moment, her short nails digging further into the palms of her hands to give her something to focus on. 

“I am sorry Hooper, for dragging you into this.” 

She looked up again, to those sympathetic eyes she could barely see. Molly gave him a small smile.

“It could be worse.” She teased. “You could be stuck in here with Doctor Watson.”

A soft huff of a laugh. “Don’t make jokes Hooper.”

She joined in the soft laughter, the mood relaxed for a moment. 

She was tense, she could admit it. Knowledgeable enough regarding her own body that she knew how the room and the haze of opium and the sounds were affecting her. 

Another cry from beyond the wall and once again she tensed, eyes rising quickly to meet Holmes’s once more. She licked her ever dry lips, and Holmes sucked in a breath. He lifted a hand, resting it lightly against the curve of her neck then his head bent and she was pressed against the wall, Holmes’ mouth hot against her, tongue pressing against her lips, demanding entrance. 

Molly’s breath caught, the warmth in her belly grew hot and her lips parted. Her mind stopped, instinct taking over and she wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting to her toes and pressing against him. 

He tasted of tobacco and scotch and she delved deeper, trying to drink him in.

“Molly,” The word was drawn out over her lips and then she was hefted up, the rough of the stone pressed against her back, her legs wrapped around Holmes’s waist, his hands cupping her arse, burning into the wool of her trousers. She felt as exposed as the women in the other room and she didn’t care. His mouth was decadent against her neck and she tilted her head giving him silent access. 

“Holmes,” she whispered, his name stumbling over her tongue as his mouth sucked against her pulse point, finger on the hands holding her up searching…

The sudden scream in the next room was like cold water being thrown on the both of them. Molly unhook her legs from his waist, just as he let go, letting her feet land back onto the floor. 

“What…” her hands gripped at his arm, eyes wide in fear. The sounds from the room were growing louder, more frantic and Molly could hear a different sort of shouting in the other room.

_ You’ve killed her. You fool! _

_ We can hide the body, dump it in the Thames. _

_ She wasn’t a doxy, you idiot. She was the daughter of a high ranking official. She was supposed to be our ticket to control him and you’ve ruined it. _

Holmes peered through the peephole. A naked raven haired woman lay dead on the floor, her lips red with blood. Surrounding her were five separate people, two of whom Holmes knew from his enforced work with his brother Mycroft. Behind him, Molly was pressed against his back, trying to see into the peephole as well, or at least hear what was going on outside. 

The others that had been in the room had scattered, probably dressed and escaping out the back.

_ Get her dressed.  _ One of the men began giving orders.  _ We’ll take her to Whitechapel, make it look as if she was in the wrong place and was mistaken for a whore.  _ His voice began growing stronger, confident they could get away with this.  _ We can still make this work towards our favor. _

Holmes backed away from the secret door. Molly backed up as well, her back once again hitting the wall. This time she moved to the left, towards the heated stones. Her head, while growing less cloudy, was still reeling from not only everything that had happened just outside this secret room, but everything that had happened between her and Holmes. 

“What do we do?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, even to him. 

“Let them dress, gather her up and leave the home. Then we can call Lestrade and tell him to gather his men and take them to Whitehall. If he is quick, he and his men might well catch them in the act.”

She hated the idea of letting these men potentially get away with murder. It’s what she and the other women of the Daughters of Hera had fought against during their time. To make men pay for their abysmal treatment of women. 

A hand came to rest on her arm and she looked up, blinking in the still dim light. 

“Patience Hooper.” Came the quiet voice. “I promise you these men will see justice served.”

Of course he knew what she was thinking, he always knew. Relaxing, she nodded.

* * *

Twenty minutes passed before they could hear the sounds of men hefting the dead body and moving towards the door. Twenty long minutes for her mind to finally clear, her audour to cool and to push aside everything until such a time she had alone to dissect it in her mind. The minute the door clicked shut, Holmes was reaching up and pressing the hidden catch at the top of the hidden door. 

“I found it during their dinner.” He explained as the secret door slid open revealing the remnants of the debauchery that had taken place. Hooper picked her way through the plates and discarded articles of clothing, following Holmes as he headed back towards the kitchen. 

There was a phone in the hallway, one he wiped off before using. 

“Scotland Yard please. Yes. I need to speak with Inspector Lestrade.”

Molly peered around the hallway, but the house seemed empty, as if everything they’d witnessed has been an illusion. Yet she was still on edge, the adrenaline still coursing through her.

“Lestrade.” Holmes was saying. “Take a group of your best men and a wagon and go immediately to Whitechapel. There are five men attempting to dispose of a body of a young women.” There was a pause in which Holmes’ face went carefully blank. “The young woman in question is the daughter of a high ranking member of Parliament so if you wish to retain your position, I would suggest catching these men in the act. Yes. Thank you.”

Holmes dropped the phone into the receiver. “Some days I wonder how the Met functions with even the tiniest of London’s problems.”

“Might we get out of there now Holmes,” Molly asked gruffly. “I no longer wish to be in this place.”

“Of course.” With a slight lift of his lips, he extended and arm. “May I escort you home?” the tone in his voice suggested to her that he might like to escorted her not only to her home but perhaps inside as well.

“Holmes!” Try as she might, she could not keep her cheeks from burning. “I am dressed as a man, it would be unseemly.”

“As you are well aware, my dear Hooper,” Holmes said as he escorted her out of the front door of the building, no reason to slink around in the dark now. “I am an unseemly type of man.”

With a snort, she came to walk beside him instead. She would not take his arm, she was a modern woman, but she would allow him to walk her home and after that...well, maybe she would invite him up for a whiskey and a continuation of their discussion in that locked room.


	4. Pretend To Know Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Person won't stop flirting, please pretend to know me
> 
> “Help me. Man, on the right, ten steps behind us, won’t take no for an answer. Might have given me a mick.”

“There you are!”

The exclamation came only seconds before an arm draped over her shoulder. Molly’s knees almost buckled under the sudden extra weight against her, almost as if the person who’d suddenly pressed themselves upon her person was falling over. Her heart sped up in a fear response as her brain recognized the speaker was male, but before she could move away, let them fall, the voice came again, this time right next to her ear. 

“Help me. Man, on the right, ten steps behind us, won’t take no for an answer. Might have given me a mick.”

Adrenalin kicked up a bit higher as her arm went around his waist to hold him upright. He was skinny. She could feel the rubs underneath the hoodie he wore, and it alarmed her. 

All of this took less than two seconds. It took less than that to decide what to do next. 

“Not again.” 

Shifting her bag onto her other shoulder, Molly walked them both down an opposite path, away from the student flats she was heading for and toward the main building where she knew her friend Kate would be exiting in just a moment.

“Sweetheart, you have to stop doing this.” She grabbed the thin arm lazily draped over her shoulder and tugged while she did a little hop, trying to get him a bit more upright. His head lolled towards her, a soft smile on his lips. Her own eyes widened as she glimpsed this nearly black eyes. He blinked slowly.

“You’re pretty.”

“You’re blitzed. Come on,”

“Where we going?”

He was taller than her, weighed a bit more, but he wasn’t heavy. The way he was beginning to slur his words and how he leaned further into her, she was willing to think he was right, someone had spiked…whatever he was taking. 

“Name?” She whispered, her lips brushing against his cheek.

“Will…no, Sher-

“You silly. What are you doing?”

The new voice startled her as did the sudden tug at the man she was holding up. Her arm tightened around Will’s waist, hand tightened on his arm. Molly turned, fixing the new person with a glare. 

Tall, blond hair, built. He faltered a bit when the man in her arms didn’t pull away easily but it was quickly covered with the fake smile on his face. 

“Thank you for finding him, he’s a handful when he’s high.”

Molly’s frown didn’t waver.

“Are you his dealer?” she snapped, throwing the other man off guard. 

“What? No! I’m his, boyfriend.” The pause between the last two words told her all she needed to know.

“Really?” she asked, pulling the limp man closer to her. He moaned softly, leaning into her more. His head was lolling down, touching her head. “What’s his name?”

“What?”

She was uncomfortable in this situation. At any time, this guy could grab the man in her arms, yank him away from her and be off and there was nothing she could do about it. But she was in an open quad on campus with students and teachers milling about, some of them giving them second looks, so she didn’t think the strange man would try anything. 

“Wrong.” She began walking again and her new friend drug his feet in support. She knew this, had seen it with one of her friends one night. Soon he was going to be completely unconscious and there was nothing she would be able to do then. Her only hope was Kate would appear soon and spot them.

“Hey!” the guy jogged up to them, reaching out. “Who the fuck are you and where the hell do you think you’re going with my guy?”

“Your guy? Wrong, mate!” Molly snarled at him, dark eyes bright with anger. There was no way in hell she was allowing…Will to go with this bloke. And if she had to fake being the girlfriend, she would. “I don’t know who the hell you’re playing, my boyfriend sure the hell isn’t your guy.”

“Not your mate, cow and there’s no way he would date a mousey nothing like you.”

Molly didn’t answer, kept her eyes on the blonde as she slid her hands down Will’s waist, and patted his hip, in full view of this guy. Still leaning against her, Will moaned, wrapping his other arm around her in a tighter hold. 

“Mmmm,”

Raising an knowing eyebrow, she turned with Will still holding her like she was his own personal body pillow and kept walking. 

“I’m talking to you!”

“Molls?”

Molly almost collapsed in relief. Kate was hurrying towards her, followed by her flavor of the week, a tall ginger footie player. 

“Hey!” she called out to her friend, eyes wide and pleading. “Can you help me get Will back to my flat?”

Kate paused for the briefest of seconds, looking at Molly and then to the guy half slouched against her, eyes closed.

“Not again,” she said, shoving her books into her boyfriend’s hands and hurrying around to the other side and sliding under Will’s other arm. “What did he get into this time?”

“Hey!”

“Not sure, but we’re going to have a talk when he sobers up.” Molly answered, still pointedly ignoring the blonde. Kate looked over at the blonde, still standing there as if he wasn’t sure where he’d lost control. 

“And who are you then? His dealer?” Kate snapped. “Bet security would be biting to have a chat with you.”

The man flushed scarlet, his eyes flashing in anger. “Bitch.” He spat, then hurried off.

“Molls, what the hell was that?” Kate asked when the guy was far enough away. 

“Help me get him to my flat.”

“What? Oh no. That is not a good idea,”

“I can’t just leave him here Kate. He asked for my help.”

“He’s a junkie Molls,” Kate exclaimed as they began walking towards the flats, the man between them. Will’s feet drug against the ground, useless, as they walked. “You can’t take a junkie back up to your flat. He’s not a kitten.”

“Katie…please.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “Ugh, fine. Liam, this is my dear friend and crazy collector, Molly. Molls this is Liam. Liam, keep an eye out that whacked out dealer bloke inn’t following us, yeah?”

“Wotcher. Yeah.”

Together, they managed to half drag, half walk the now unconscious man to Molly’s flat, all the while Liam circling around them as if he was security. They wrestled him up the one flight of stairs and down the hallway to her tiny studio flat. Liam stood at the door as they dropped the unconscious bundle onto the bed in the corner of the room. 

“There. I still say this is a bad idea.”

Molly rolled her now sore shoulders and dropped her bag on the floor beside the couch by the small kitchen area. “You didn’t see him. He knew he’d been drugged and sought out the first person he thought would help him. You’d do the same.”

Kate had. Had helped a stranger in a club one evening when the women had appeared in their group acting like they were old friends. Kate had gotten the woman safe and away from the guy who had drugged her, made sure she was somewhere safe when she fell unconscious and helped her get home the next morning. 

Kate gave her a look. 

“You want me to stay?”

“I really don’t think I’m in any danger.”

Another frustrated sigh. “I’m gonna call you. Randomly. If you don’t answer, I’m coming over here with Liam, got it.”

“Got it.” She hugged her friend, and then leaned around the woman. “Thank you, Liam.”

“Yep.” Came the answer. Molly looked at her friend. 

“Not big on talking, is he?”

The devilish look told Molly all she needed to know.

Shutting the door behind them, she turned to look at her new temporary roommate, sprawled out and unconscious on her bed. 

She should at least take his shoes off. 

“It’s just you and me, Will.” She told the unconscious body as she moved to make tea.

* * *

_Redbeard!_

_Redbeard!_

_Could hear the whining, the scratching._

_Tried to find him, couldn’t find him._

_Redbeard!_

Sherlock sat up with a start, a scream cut off before it could completely escape. 

Nothing looked familiar and he willed his heart to slow as he took sight of his surroundings. 

Small one room flat with an en suite.

Nightlight on in the kitchen area, kettle, microwave, small fridge. 

Fire stove in the corner of the room. 

Couch next to a desk and the lumped figure of a woman sleeping.

His mind sped up and the memories floated back hazy. 

He’d bought heroin from a guy he didn’t normally go to. His guy had been nicked and he was desperate. Remembers flirting, the guy, _can’t remember his name, names aren’t important_ pressing an advantage. 

Shooting up. The euphoria felt off. He felt off. It wasn’t a bad trip, it was a bad dose. It was laced with something. 

Trying to escape. 

Sun. Shadows. Sense of someone following him. _Waiting for him to fall_ . _You messed up you messed up mummy and father will be so angry and what will Mycroft say? Where is your list, I need your list. It was only one this time, would’ve been more, but this is off, this feels wrong._

Brown hair, small stature, walking towards housing. There was something in her face, could feel himself losing consciousness. Knew she’d help. 

Vague memories of her yelling at…someone,

_Boyfriend. She told someone he was her boyfriend._

Felt the touch of her hand on his arm, her arm around his waist, on his hip, the smell of her hair and then…nothing.

Swinging his feet over the bed, he scrubbed at his face. 

He’d been drugged. Heroin was his drug of choice, it was easy to get and relatively cheap when he didn’t have a lot of money. But that one was cut with something else, rohypnol if he were to guess. Easier to mask and it looks as if the person is just having a bad trip.

“Will?”

Sherlock looked up at the now moving bundle on the couch. A face poked out from under a blanket, partially highlighted by the night light.

She called him Will. Which meant he was still in somewhat sound mind when he’d approached her. Even if he didn’t remember giving her his name.

She was standing now, the blanket pushed aside. She was tiny, smaller than his fuzzy memory pictured her and for a moment he wondered how she had carried him. 

“How are you feeling? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“I feel exactly how a person coming off a high usually feels.”

_Lies. You feel worse._

She was moving towards the small fridge, opening it. 

“I think you were drugged. I mean, more than you drugged yourself.” 

She walked towards him holding a bottle and held it out to him.

“Just water. Not opened.”

He took it, fingers brushing over hers. 

Once the sound of the safety seal was heard, she moved towards the en suite, leaning in to turn on a light. Light flowed through the small room, yet not enough to hurt his still sensitive eyes. He blinked and drank half the bottle in one go.

“What’s your name?”

“Hmm? Oh, Molly. There’s fresh towels in the bath if you want to take a shower.”

He frowned, finishing off the water. What he wanted was to get out of this small flat and back to his own where he knew he was safe and could sleep the rest of his headache off. Maybe no drugs for a few days. But to do that, he’d need to get past his tiny jailer.

“It seems I owe you my gratitude Molly,” he said, pitching his voice lower in a way he knew worked on women. It worked on her as well and he watched in amusement as she went flustered for a moment. “I always pay my debts.” 

He stood and took a step towards her. And stopped. 

“Where are my shoes?”

“Oh.” Moving once more, she picked up his ragged trainers and deposited them in front of him. “I thought you’d be more comfortable without your shoes. And I didn’t want dirt in my bed.:

He couldn’t help the smile on his face as he sat back down to slip on his shoes. He’d chosen well, his protector. 

“What’s the time?”

“Almost five. The sun should be rising soon.”

He’d slept for almost thirteen hours. Sherlock ran a hand over his face, scrubbing the sleep from his face. He hadn’t slept that long in a while.

“Christ.” He muttered under his breath. “I need to go.”

“Oh…are…are you sure it’s safe?” 

He didn’t want to think about it now, but he was more than sober enough to take care of anyone who might stand in his way from here to his own flat.

“Quite.” Dropping his hand, he took the two steps towards her. The tiny woman, _Molly_ , stepped back, neck craned upward to look at him, brown eyes wide.

“Thank you. Molly.”

“It’s no trouble, I mean, I was happy to do it, well not happy but,”

He reached out and touched her shoulder and she stopped talking.

_If it were only ever that easy._

He watched her pupils dilate, felt her pulse quicken under his touch. She was attracted to him. 

He gave his best smile, knowing that he looked like death warmed over and yet…

_She likes you. Use that._

Leaning down, he pressed his lips against her cheek, close to the corner of her mouth. He could have kissed her, pressed an advantage. But…

“Thank you.” He repeated. 

She swallowed, opening closed eyes.

“You’re welcome.” She whispered. 

He needed to leave. Get out of here before he did something stupid. He could always erase her from his mind palace once he returned home. 

One more smile and then he was heading towards the door, intent only on leaving.

“Be careful.” Molly’s voice floated over the silent room. 

Sherlock stopped, hand on the knob. Turned back to look at her, face half hidden in shadow.

“I always am.” 

A twist of the knob and he was out of the flat and down the hallway, body on autopilot, leading him back to his own flat. 

Once there and he could erase this entire experience from his mind.

Little did he know the tiny savior had already set roots in his mind, making her own room. Small as a mouse hole now, it would grow one day into something much larger.


	5. In The Cold Midwinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Pipes burst at Baker Street, Sherlock offers to stay and keep an eye on things. Having Molly there is just a better alternative.

The building was freezing when Molly stepped inside the glass doors that led into the interior hallway.

Outside, the wind was frigid and biting, the temperature arctic. She didn’t expect the inside of the Baker Street home to be only ten degrees warmer.

“Mrs. Hudson?”

There was no movement on the main floor. The door into Mrs. Hudson’s flat was dark. It didn’t look as if she was home.

Climbing the stairs, she could still hear the wind blowing against the building. As she reached the landing and began the ascent towards her flat, she could see a light from the open doorway. The door to the kitchen was closed, the door to the front was left open part way, the warm light emanating into the frozen hallway beckoning. 

Molly hurried up the stairs and into the flat, shutting the door behind her. The door to the kitchen was closed off and there was a fire roaring strong in the fireplace. Sherlock sat in his chair, knees pulled up and wrapped up in his great coat. 

“When did the heat go out?” she asked as she dropped her bags by the side of the door. She’d learned early in her association with him to not ask questions she knew the answer to. 

“This afternoon,” Came the response. “Pipes froze and broke, the earliest anyone can come out is tomorrow morning. I packed Mrs. Hudson off to her sisters and John has offered his couch if you want it.”

“What about you?”

“I told Mrs. Hudson I’d stay and wait for the repair team tomorrow. Keep an eye on things tonight.”

She nodded. “I’ll go gather up some blankets.”

“Molly.”

She stopped halfway towards the closed door leading to the kitchen and looked back at him. He hadn’t moved, still huddled under his coat, eyes focused on her.

“You don’t have to stay. Go to John’s where it’s warm.”

“Diverting her course, she walked over to his chair. The room was warmer in this area, but not comfortable.

“Oh no, lest you forget, for better or for worse.”

His gaze followed her approach, head lifting as she drew near and dropped a small kiss onto his cold lips.

“I doubt the for worse part involved voluntary sleeping in a cold flat.”

“If I could handle faking your death and the many overdoses you’ve had, a frozen flat cuddled in with you is nothing.”

His gaze softened. “I’ll text John.”

Another kiss on cold lips that she vowed to warm later. “I’ll get blankets.”

* * *

She found every single blanket, throw, duvet and quilt in the house, even taking some from Mrs. Hudson’s storage with a silent promise to have them cleaned before she returned them. Taking the pillows from both their room and the spare room, Molly made a comfortable looking next for them on the floor in front of the fire. 

Coat was taken off and laid near the nest to be used as added protection. She even gathered some food from the cold kitchen, heated water for tea and brought that out as well before making sure the house was as closed up as possible. 

Everything gathered and near them, she kicked off her shoes and slid in between the pile of blankets. 

“Off with the coat and climb in.”

Sherlock had remained in the chair while she’d gathered everything. Now, he carefully moved from the chair and into the pile of blankets. Molly let out a squeak as his hand brushed against her. “You are freezing! How long have you been sitting there?”

He shrugged, now shivering. “I had to get Hudders out and someplace warm then make calls around to find someone. It seems we are not the only one with the heating systems breaking down this day. The fire is still rather fresh.”

“Sherlock.” The fool man would die of hyperthermia before he thought about himself. She wrapped blankets around him and cuddled in close to him. He leaned against her, cold nose pressed against her throat. “You need warming up.”

The vibration of his chuckle ran along her neck. “I think we have far too many pieces of clothing on to use body heat.” Cold lips pressed against her neck. She smiled and shivered.

“When we warm up, we can shed pieces, I suppose.”

“Mmmm,” 

Cold hands slid under her shirt. She squealed and tried to move away but he held her tight. “Stop moving, I’m trying to get us warm.”

Molly giggled, unbuttoning a few buttons on his shirt to slide her own cool hands against still cool skin. He hissed against her neck, breath warm against her skin. 

“This isn’t how I envisioned this evening turning out, but I have to admit, it is preferable.”

“Preferable than slowly freezing to death in front of a fireplace?” she asked, as his hand settled against the small of her back, fingers stroking her skin. Sherlock moved his face form where it had been resting against her neck to look up at her. Leaning in, he brushed his now warm lips across hers.

“Infinitely.”


	6. In Vino Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Favorite Headcanon (Drunk dialing)  
> Molly Hooper receives a call. But not one she was expecting.

One in the morning was an odd time for Molly’s phone to ring. 

It had happened a few times in the past; when she was rotation during her residency, when she was on call at the hospital. When Sherlock forgot the time and most people were asleep at one am.

Groggily, she rolled over and picked up her phone, squinting against the sudden brightness in her face. Then groaned when she saw it was the latter. 

“It’s one am, Sherlock.” she groaned, voice still sleep roughened. 

“In fiery ringlets from their sleep, As I gain the cove with pushing prow, And quench its speed i’ the slushy sand.” Came the low voice after a pause. Shivers ran through Molly’s body as she sat up in bed. 

“You’re quoting poetry to me at one am? Are you okay Sherlock? Where are you?”

In the background, she could faintly make out the sounds of music playing. Then there was the echo when he spoke that told her he was somewhere where the acoustics were good. 

“You’re in a pub, did John drag you to a pub?” No. It was one am, most pubs were closed up by now. “No. You’re at a club.”

Her blood went cold. 

“Sherlock, are you high?”

“What? Noooo,” the last word was drawn out, echoing along the walls. “The only substance I have imbibed in this evening is alcohol,” His voice lowered again, deep and sultry. 

“Aren’t you a clever one for figuring that out.”

She wasn't getting back to sleep for some time so instead Molly leaned over and turned on her bedside lamp. A soft light spilled over her room. At the end of the bed, Toby lifted his head as if to see why lights were being turned on and people were moving about. Satisfied everything was still good, he dropped his head and fell back asleep. 

“Who’s there with you?” she asked, trying to ignore what his voice did to her body. 

“No one. It’s just you. And me. Alone.”

Molly shivered again. As much as her still tired brain was insisting that they find out if he was safe, her body was reacting to the now obviously pitch drop he was deliberatley doing which meant he knew what it did to her. 

Damn him. 

“Where’s John?”

A heavy sigh came from the other end of the phone, then there was a bit of rustling. 

“Why are you so eager to know where John is?” The low timber was gone, replaced with the normal petulant speaking voice. Molly could well ignore this tone. 

“Because you don’t go to clubs on your own unless it would be for a case. If it were for a case, you wouldn’t be drunk.”

“Molly,” The voice was back. “Oh Molly, What you do to me when you correctly reason out the clues.”

“I…” her mouth went dry, choking off any type of response to his comment.

“To answer your question,” he continued. “John is out in the club with Graham and several other idiots from the Met, probably trying to pull on some unsuspecting intoxicated woman.”

That answered her question. 

“Greg, Sherlock, not Graham.”

“I don’t want to talk about John. Let’s talk about you.”

“Um…”

Molly sat up straighter, movingher pillow to rest against her headboard so she could get comfortable. 

“Sherlock, you’re drunk. We probably need to end this call before you do something you regret.”

“Alcohol increases the level of dopamine in your brain while suppressing the functions of behavioral inhibitions.”

“I took introductory Biology, Sherlock.”

“What it means for stupid people that are not you and I, is that while there is a chance that my sexual ability might be lessaned while pissed, the want and frankly overwelming need to take a taxi to your flat, push you against the wall and shag you unitl we both collapse is staggering.”

The noise Molly made was somewhere between a moan and a squeek. The responding moan from Sherlock was downright debauched and Molly’s stomach clenched in need. 

“Molly,” the voice was back. She rubbed her thighs together tightly in an effort to alleviate the ache inside her. 

“Oh my Molly, say yes. Say yes and I’ll stop traffic to get there as soon as I can.”

His voice mesmerized her. Wrapped around her like a snake, enfolding and reaching parts of her she hardly thought of. It would be so very easy to say yes, to invite him over, open her body to him and just feel. Her lips parted, breath taken in to answer. 

A loud bang on his end snapped her from her trance. The banging was followed by the muffled voice of John Watson. 

“...you wanker! Open the...door...instant or….break….”

Sherlock growled. :Let me take care of John cockblock Watson and I will call you back.”

The mobile disconnected, leaving Molly confused, horney and with no idea as to what had just happened. She wasn’t getting back to sleep tonight, not for a long time and not without a bit of play. 

Toby raised his head and watched as Molly climbed from the bed, muttering angrily under her breath and headed out of the room. He stood and stretched fluidly across her bed, before hopping down and padding after her ein expectation of pets or food. 

* * *

  
  


Sherlock Holmes had a bit of a headache the next afternoon. He was faring better than either Lestrade or John, both of whom were still nursing hangovers. 

“There was a queue,” Lestrade was saying as they walked the hallway that led to the lab. “Half out in the hall. John practically had to hammer the door down.”

John, still hungover, grumbled under his breath. 

“Had a chance to get a leg up. But no, Once again cock blocked by Sherlock bloody Holmes.”

Sherlock snorted derisively as the three men pushed through the doors. Inside, one of the techs looked up, owrry on their face when they noticed who had just entered. 

“You mean to tell me you remember nothing about last night?” Lestrade asked. 

“This isn’t a good time,” the one tech began as they approached the med. 

“As I’ve already said Graham, I remember being coerced into the pub with you and your minions along with John,” Sherlock said, ignoring the tech. “I must have deleted the rest as it was more than likely tedious and dull.”

“Greg Sherlock, not Graham,” Molly’s tired voice came from outside her office door. The tech scrambled back to their area, intently focused on their work. 

“Ta Molly. You look exhausted.”

Molly stepped from her office, hands in the pockets of her lab coat. “Thanks Greg, I appreciate it.” she answered dryly. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.” 

Sherlock’s eyes went wide at Molly’s first comment, face draining pale as deleted memories of a phone call came rushing back to him. His expression morphed back to the usual bored expression, but Molly caught the brief change and he knew she’d caught him. 

“Enough chatter Molly, I need the results on the O’Conner case.”

Molly settled a blank look on him and his shoulders went up. 

“Please?”

She looked at Greg. “How was the club?” she asked, holding out her hand. One of the techs hurried over with a file folder that they placed in her outstretched hand. Greg smiled in surprise. 

“Great. Well, until there was almost a row in the men’s WC. How did you know?”

Sherlock snatched the folder from Molly’s hand and flipped it open. 

“In Vino Veritas. Right, thank you Molly, must dash.” 

“Oh, was that the commotion I heard over the phone?” she asked innocently. Sherlock, hand reaching out to push the doors open, stopped, head lowering. John frowned in confusion.

“How did you…”

Lestrade grinned slowly, looking from Molly to Sherlock. 

“Oi. Was that why you were holding up the mens?”

Pushing open the doors, Sherlock hurried out into the hallway. Greg, still grinning, looked back to Molly. 

“See you later.”

As the two men left after Sherlock, she could hear John's confused voice echo down the hallway. 

“Why was he calling Molly at one in the morning? There wasn’t anything going on.”

Shaking her head, Molly returned to her office to finish her reports and for the quiet. Her movile lay on her desk and it blinked letting her know she had a text. 

[Be over at 6 pm. We will discuss this then. SH]

Smirking, Molly pushed aside her mobile as she sat down. If he did come over tonight, she had a suspicion there wouldn’t be much in the way of discussion. 


End file.
